Of Barrels And Rotorblades
by Solarfish
Summary: A barbarian fights, help is sent and friendships are forged through the most strenuous of circumstances.


**To Wyvern:**

 **A great leader who never got to see his clan reach level 10.**

 **A friend to us all**

 **You'll be missed, bud.**

* * *

Adoc grit his teeth and pulled the winter coat around his shoulders just that much tighter. The wind was icy, a stiff breeze whipping previous snowfall across the group, obscuring them and their white coats. They where situated on a stepped slope overlooking one of the main paths through the dangerous mountains.

"What are we even meant to do?" The unnamed barbarian sounded cheated as they watched the progression of the enemy. They where outnumbered. The kind of outnumbered where you stopped counting. Bone feet marched in perfect synchronisation, sounding dull and continuous as they lumbered past.

"Hold. Drimmelheim needs time to prepare." This was Gregor, their dedicated wizard. His coat had an extra layer to it in the biting cold, flames enveloping cold hands.

"How!? Look! Those are golems! I can count them! What do you mean hold!?" Gregor just gives an imperious look at the edgy barbarian, mustache twitching.

"I mean hold. We got this." The flames emanating from his hands intensify and compress between his hands, feint mutterings of arcane magics can be heard just audible over the wind.

"You heard the man. Form up, we'll hit hard and fast. No dancing about with the golems, go for softer targets." Its clipped, professional and rough. The barbarians consider the advice superfluous. A small group of barbarians against a golem as well as thousands of skeletons and guards that would stream in as they tried?

Not happening. The barbarians line up in a rough wedge, Adoc at the head next to the wizard. As the last barbarian gets into position, Adoc nods at the spellcaster.

A bolt of fire flashes out, crumping duly into the unaware skeletons. Bones fly and armour clatters in the aftermath of the blast. The barbarians sprint forward and throw themselves at the enemy with a massive leap. Adoc slices down with a vicious heave, cleaving a skeleton with a single blow as he lands, landing without any semblance of grace but with a raw violence that screams for pain and hurt and broken bones. Adoc spots Gregor in his peripheral vision as he kicks an incoming skeleton and stabs through the front of its face.

The coat whips as the man deals swift boxer stikes to anyone foolish to stray into his reach. Magical fire blows bone away with crackling detonations and the wizard is perhaps just a tiny bit too enthusiastic with his jabs. He takes a spot near Adocs back and launches a quick bolt of magic at the pathway itself, sending a handful of guards flying.

And then the barbarians loose the element of surprise and the skeletons start attacking in ernest. Crossbow bolts start whipping past, taking a barbarian down with a gargling splatter. Adoc gives the signal and they fall back. Gregor launches a trio of blasts that cripple an incoming giant skeleton as well as its guard contingent with a brilliant flash.

Their cloaks make them dissappear into the white, and the stiff wind makes the tracks in the snow dissappear even quicker. Adoc counts his men and plans yet another hit and run on the advancing undead.

Not even a full two minutes after the first barbarian had charged, there was silence thrown around by the cold wind.

Adoc thinks to the other patrols out there, volunteers all, throwing themselves at the enemy and beseeches Fate herself to guide them.

-0-

"They must be crazy." Its said with grudging respect. The unnamed muses aloud. Things had gotten really wierd since they had settled down in Drimmelheim. The valkyries where a strange bunch. She could see two of them on the inner wall, also look at the goings on below. It wasn't exactly their fault, but it was all going very strange nonetheless.

"They are." Lara comments sagely, nimble feet padding softly on the stone floor of the tower.

"Your highness!" The musketeer snaps to attention, looking up at the queen. She smiles softly.

"None of that. I'm merely here to see what infernal contraption Kail has come up with next." The mighty X-bow noses the ground and the large archer queen reclines against it, watching idly as she soaks up the rare sun in Drimmelheim. The musketeer doesn't react for a heartbeat before slowly relaxing. Her gaze finally goes back to the contraptions and their accompanying bustle below.

"What are they up to?" Lara finally asks. She hadn't been able to figure out what they where even meant to do. Warlock Kail was a strange one.

"Flying machines, your highness." The musketeer supplies, returning to her post as over-watch. Scuttlebutt had it pegged as flying machines. Captain Piosa said she'd seen it being tested in the warlock's sprawling armoury.

"Truly? Do we not already have flying machines?" The musketeer shrugs respectively, unable to answer.

"We do. But Kail says its a matter of concept..." Another voice joins them, deep and commanding. The musketeer comes to attention again at the door.

"The attack balloons fly because they are lighter than air, magic and hot air making them float. These fly on different principles." The king waves her off with a subtle nod and a lazy hand. The shield sinks to the ground outside the tower bearing new marks and dents.

"What do these fly with then?" The queen asks, interested. Her sharp eyesight taking in the designs far below. It was mainly an armoured core shaped out of a barrel with three odd protrusions sticking out the top. The barrel extended out to the rear with three metal supports and some sort of covering. The end had another set of three... blades? Except these where tilted vertically.

"Kail didn't deem it necessary to tell me. The tops spin and the backs spin and they fly." World weary shoulders shrug emphatically and a massive body crashes against the shale slope of the mountain. Lara raises a brow.

"You tax yourself too much, Jack."

"No rest for the wicked."

"Oh hush, you do your name proud with your dedication." The crown tilts and Jack eyes his queen.

"I can only hope that for my men out there that it will help... even but just a little." Jack finishes. He does relax slightly however. The king and queen watch the new inventions be put to their first test with a feintly smiling musketeer looking over the pair.

-0-

Looxin tested the controls daintily, featherlight touches almost loving. He knows them like the back of his hands yet there was still trepidation running through his veins like the very manifestation of weakness.

His palms where sweaty even though he'd been testing this particular flying machine in the armoury since it had left the forge.

"You ready?" Looxin just brings down his standard issue warlock goggles and throws a thumb up to the man on the ground. He didn't trust his voice at the moment. His eyes went to the clouds visible through the viewslit. There weren't ropes to keep you grounded here.

"Alright. Keep calm, and don't do anything stupid. The king watches." Sure enough before the doors to the rotorcraft closed, Looxin spotted the massive cream shield of the king off to the right, overlooking everything from the massive flanking tower of the inner wall.

His hands tightened on the pitch control and the cyclic. His voice comes back to him as the hatch shuts and he's alone.

"Lets thunder." And a grey and gold tablet imbued with the magical aspect of rotation, the moving sun, the running equator, the trek of the stars itself was clamped in place with a lever. The entire construct shuddered as the tablet tried to turn. The gear it was on began to rotate. A small clacking followed by the grinding of gears. A massive blade slowly drifted by the viewslit. Another. Faster. It became a hum of gears. A thrumming of rotors whipping past. Looxin merely checked his little world was all in place.

A quick check of the scrying bead found it in full working order. A shift of the cyclic made the machine rock slightly as rotors clawed for air, signifying the working status of the rotor assembly. He eyed the activation rune on a small box off to his left as well as resting on the front side of the cyclic. Weapons. This was a war machine. The sound of spooling machinery changed slightly as the magical rune at the center of the gear assembly reached its magical limit, not able to rotate any faster.

Work-worn hands gently coaxed the humming and vibrating machine. A slight pull of the angle-lever and the blades swiveled, grabbing more air. The blades slowed somewhat at the increased resistance, but the magical tablet held and the machine finally started subtly swaying with a lurch.

Flying. Looxin took a moment to appreciate the thought. Truly the works of Kail the Arch-Warlock where great. Nothing was impossible for the eccentric.

"Looxin, you're drifting. Take it right somewhat." Looxin blinked. Distraction would get him killed in a situation like this. Careful hands stroked right. The barrel tilted miniscule amounts and the grass in front began to track left.

"Great. Keep it there... Okay, Fussak is up. They'll be following your lead. You know the lay of the land. Treat her well." And sure enough, Looxin thought of the machine as a her, a thing of beauty and intricacies. With the wrath of a woman to accompany all of its femininity included. He patted an open panel affectionately and felt with his feet. Subtle resistance and Looxin pressed while increasing his rotor's angle.

The machine rotated left and the sound deepened, rotors slapping air as they began to rise and slip away. They tilted forwards and began a slow nudge through the air. Looxin cleared the outer wall's height and fought down the wave of anxiety as he pressed his cyclic forward. The tilt increased. Their speed picked up and everyone watched as three wooden constructs floated away with a clapping buzz, laden with explosives and the wrath of their king.

Fort Drimmelheim sat in stoney silence watching the three flying machines dissappear as distance and a feint mist ate them up.

-0-

"Adoc! Hold! I'm detecting a scrying node..." the voice was hissed and Adoc nearly stumbled. He threw a caution sign up to the rest of the patrol. The barbarians all paused on the ledge before shuffling slowly back and making a half perimeter around their wizard. The wizard's eyes blazed with inner light and something played with their hearing as his lips moved. As soon as it had come, the feeling dissappeared and the mage stood with a funny look.

"We pull back and only help mopping up after... they have passed." Adoc took the word of his attached pyromancer in good faith and held his troops off the convoy, not bothering to ask for details.

"Dragons?" The wizard shook his head.

"They feel different. Like sandstone. This was... constricting? Like being talked to in a small room." The wizard trailed off and threw his gaze to the white and grey wall of mist, looking for something.

Then they heard it. It was a low thwapping noise. Like dragon wings except the beat was too fast and Gregor wasn't this nervous about the beasts. He looked like he was facing down an angry valkyrie.

"What's wrong?" And before a reply could be said, they spotted them.

And the shield colours they carried.

Everyone held their breath as they watched the impossible. The contraptions swung around another bend in the valley and ran the length of the snaking convoy, flaring back and slowing slightly.

Something bright flared and flung a smokey trail directly towards the skeletons.

"Don't!" And small thunderclaps broke their way up the undead lines. Golems where flung off their narrow path and giant skeletons disassembled. The boom of a cannon roared and a supply cart disintegrated into splinters and loot. Another boom, and a giant skeleton was smacked to the ground, its shoulder a splintered mess.

Before the undead could even respond to the new threat, the contraptions banked, washing everyone with a loud 'whap whap whap' as they pulled away to dissappear into the hazy grey skies. Dull booms followed them as they laid waste to all they could further down the trail. Adoc gaped and Gregor cursed softly.

"Damn scrying beads." Was all the wizard could say before the barbarians got over the shock and lept at the skeletons, eager for a fight.

-0-

They fought hard. Days turned into weeks, weeks to months.

The days all just blurred together as skeleton and undead forces reinforced their siege on Drimmelheim. They became alarmingly good at the sabotage and lightning fast attacks. Sometimes they would wait for hours until the telltale sound was heard or Gregor started going fuzzy 'round the edges.

Adoc and his men gained a healthy respect for the 'clappers. Thunderclappers where hardly an original or inspiring name, but it made veteran barbarians grin and the wizards look on approvingly in remembrance of the pyrotechnics.

Adoc was sure the other patrols had stories of their deadly nature. Faster than any attack balloon in the kings service and toting an explosive load of thunderlances or cannon, they rarely disappointed. There where now a confirmed six flying out from Drimmelheim, roving in pairs for Gregor to coordinate with. They provided assistance reassuringly often.

And now his wearing patrol, less than half its original size, was slowly but surely making its way back to the looming and bleak fortress. They'd fought the good fight, delt punishing and smashing blows to boney face and skeletal behind. Carved a path of smashed dark magical constructs slowly but surely to the fort.

They where tired from near constant fighting for Fate knows how long, their mentality as well as equipment in need of serious care. Blades where looking worn and cloaks starting to fray worryingly at the edges. Gregor was beyond depleted in terms of sorcerous powers, moving, acting and throwing bolts and punches on pure grit and sheer stubbornness. Adoc had gained severe respect for the spellcaster.

Bot now they made their way home, to their king and queen, comrades and allies.

They couldn't slip past the siege, there wasn't a hope in all the realms, but they trekked high up an impossible slope on a barely discernible path that was only 'slighty' less dangerous than the rest of the cliffside of a mountain on the 'rear' side of the fort. It was a long climb and three freezing nights of huddled grumbles at cloaks that kept the cold out but seemed eternally too small in some dimension or other before they made the impossible climb.

And on the spine of the almost cliff, there was a well kept elevator-cart braving the ice and wind, ready to spirit their tired feet deep into the bowls of Drimmelheim. None where more relieved than Adoc and Gregor.

Their patrol, however, took a moment to watch over the battle below. Flaming mortar shells could be seen in between the black and skull cloth of the latest war-balloon parade. Cannonshot was barely visible from this height and the undead where a solid white and grey flecked carpet blending in with the snow and ice outside of the fort. The sounds of battle couldn't reach them and they watched it all in perfect silence.

"Let us go and report." Adoc finally says and troops to the lift built for at least fifty. His handfull of comrades leave him angry at it all. Had he failed? Was his men not enough?

The lift rattles and jerks down as the well kept lever is pulled.

There is a long silence as they wait in the almost-gloom of Gregor's magic-wreathed hands and a lone glowtorch next to the panel.

For the first time in almost two months, Adoc allows himself to sit down, clean his blade and relax. He is joined by the wizard.

"What now?" The mage's mustache twitches. Adoc shrugs.

"We report. Rest. Sit in front of a fire not dancing off of your fingers and ready ourselves for when we head back out there." The wizard chuckles lowly.

"Ever eager for a fight, barbarian."

"Always, wizard." Adoc's lips quirk.

-0-

The lift stops with a single, smooth motion and the seven barbarians and a wizard look at a full dozen of archers, four musketeers, a squad of barbarians and a valkyrie all prepared for... something.

There is a tense moment before Adoc gets up and looks around the room.

"And this?" The valkyrie tilts her head.

"A precaution. Safety lacks for naught." Her tone is warm but clipped and superficial, like complimenting someone on how nice they look dead. Adoc turnes to the woman, as tall as a barbarian, lithe, strong and wielding an axe bigger than his own blade.

"Well back off, I serve the king like everyone else, and I've come here to get a small reprieve from all this fighting for merely a moment." He stalks out and slaps the axe down from its threatening pose. The valkyrie's eyes go large and something flickers on her face.

"You go toe to toe with me after slinking about the mountains while good men and women fight on the walls of Drimmelheim-" The valkyrie catches sight of the wizard slowly shaking his head over the barbarian's shoulder and pauses. This gives Adoc a moment to comprehend the enormity of what was just said. The stuff of legends follow.

"You just what?" The tone is icier than the wind they just left.

"You call me a coward!? You call my men cowards!?" He steps forward. The valkyrie takes half a step back. "We fought and died for this fort and you throw cowardice in my face!?" The barbarian is vibrating on the spot, face contorted in a rage even few barbarians could pull off. He flys off the handle entirely, not so much screaming as talking with enough presence to make you wish he was. His voice rises as he continues to berate the valkyrie, visibly balking at the onslaught.

"You want a fight!? You want to call judgement!? Get your ass in line and use your brain before I tear it from your hide and feed it to you! Where is your commander!? I will-"

Gregor is satisfied and moves to put a hand on the barbarian's shoulder.

"Enough, Adoc." The room petrifies. The atmosphere goes from awe to frozen. There is barely a breath from the fort-inhabitants. Finally, the valkyrie manages to find her voice.

"As in... The Adoc? The last patrol? Ghosts in White?" The valkyrie's eyes seem to stick to their cloaks. She doesn't seem like she wants an answer.

Gregor and Adoc's hearts sink simultaneously.

The last patrol.

Adoc's eyes are very flinty as simply steps back, turns to the remnants of his squad and stares. They stare back defiant.

"Take us to the armoury, our blades need reforging, its steel is less tempered than our resolve." Gregor doubts that even if the king himself had stood there and said otherwise, that request would have been heeded regardless.

They stalk off and the valkyrie is almost glad she doesn't get an answer.

-0-

Adoc is very quiet as his patrol hands in their blades for upkeep. The heat of the forge is a lovers caress against their cold souls. The warlocks eye their apparel oddly for all the time it takes for the first blade to be inspected.

A lone figure approaches.

"Adoc?" The man looks up immediately.

"Sweet fates, we thought you dead." The man is relieved. Visibly relieved. The barbarian looks around to his squad and his adopted second in command. Gregor and the rest shrug.

"Do I know you?" Its cautious, after the snow and stones and shattered blades of fallen comrades on mountainsides, he had learned to be.

"Yes. We met a while back. Eversore pass, half a days march from the split. I remember a particularly nasty golem." Adoc's eyes widened.

"Who..."

Looxin grinned.

"I was the one to shoot first." The barbarians and wizard dissolved into amazed banter as three other 'pilots' joined them.

Two where out on patrol looking for them specifically at that very moment.

-0-

It was jarring. Meeting the 'clappers face to face only to see ordinary warlocks. Not even a ranger or even someone special, just a scrawny, scarred and slightly singed coggie.

But it felt right.

His patrol, his boys, spread out in the stifling and oppressive heat of the massive forgeworks and never looked so content.

And then the king showed up.

Adoc scrambled to attention and cursed himself for making the king go out of his way for valuable information on supply lines and enemy reinforcements.

He was met by a calm smile and a nod. The massive personification of war, violence and death on the battlefield simply motioned for Adoc and his men to relax.

"You have fought well. Rest for you have earned it. Tell me how moves the Grey Seer's hordes at your leisure." The king's massive scarred hand places an elixer gourd in the stunned Adoc's hands. He reflexively takes a sip. And gags as it burns down his thoat.

The king smiles kindly.

"An acquired taste, I assure you." The mere notion of his king having to assure anyone leaves Adoc feeling bitter.

"My lord, the news is grim..."

-0-

Jack gets up with a lithe brutality that gives away his prowess on the battlefield. His eyes are sad as he looks over the small group.

"I cannot undo what you have gone through, Adoc, nor can I placate your men with what-might-have-beens or excuses. You where brave when courage was the hardest possible option. You persevered when death seemed to be your prize. You all humble me with pure, selfless devotion to a cause unworthy of such outstanding men... Kail, see to it that the Ghosts In White are cared for and not found wanting. Adoc, when you deem yourself rested, find me or the council." Jack walks out in the wake of the patrol's pure disbelieving, stupefied euphoria.

Kail walks up, all corded muscle and burn scars.

"Yeah, he's a sucker for the grandiose. What do you men need?" Adoc turns to his men, each having a mildly overwhelmed look.

"Better coats. Something light and comfortable for armour. Two smaller blades each." Each was enunciated with care, as if the words where slipping into the sentence without Adoc's knowledge.

"And boots that keep the snow out."

-0-

Its with an unreadable expression that Adoc learns of their fame in the morning. Looxin is fidgeting as he tells them how his men always had to report back to the council or the king on how effective they where and how the patrol was doing. News had spread of the single patrol that defied the odds outside the walls against the endless hordes. Ghosts in White.

Gregor had just laughed and shrugged it off in his own way. His men all felt indifferent. They'll be doing it again soon. There was no fear. They'd fought too long to fear the slopes. Respect it, yes. A developed and refined respect for the dangers and abilities of a snowy slope. But it was home in the most horrific sense if the word.

The warlocks say that Kail himself as well as a few of the senior warlocks had worked straight through the night, straight from the conversation with Adoc, through the night and well into the early hours of the morning until their work was done.

Naturally, any work produced by the Arch-Warlock are works of art.

The coats are whiter than white, soft and have multiple buckles and straps to ensure they fit perfectly. Thick and warm, they marvel at the craftsmanship. The armour fits snugly beneath, a chest plate with small pauldrons and separate vambraces. Their boots are laced with thin plate and lined with fur.

And each get a pair of falchions that would make any alliance knight green with envy. Perfectly balanced and straight edged, their smokey finish charms them to the veterans. As the barbarians share banter and appreciation, they trade in the old for the new.

"Barbarian. You look like a snow wizard." Adoc looks back to Gregor as he tucks the last of the woven lace tight on his vambrace. The wizard had gained a longer coat edged with arcane symbols that seem to squirm as you look at them. And a pair of ice white knuckle-duster gauntlets.

"Wizard. You look like a thug." They break into grins and rally their squad with a quick signal. The warm coats and armour that almost refuses to be uncomfortable give each barbarian a grin that doesn't fade at their captain's gaze.

"Training ground for the lot of you, Gregor included. I have an audience with the king then I shall join you. We have skills to hone." There is no preamble, and the barbarians wait for a heartbeat for further information before nodding and slinking off into the morning without a dismissal.

Adoc pulls out a falchion, rugged and almost as long as his old sword, but forged to last longer than he. It gleams as a testing slash makes it thrum through the forgework's warm air.

Then his boots crunch into the snow and he makes his way back to the inner sanctuary. The walk is soothing, but the thunder of artillery is all too present from the middle wall. The outer field is alive with training men and women. In a secluded corner, protected by an armoured shelter, the six flying machines sit idle. Two are being checked on and readied for the days first work.

The inner gates are an awesome sight, and as he travels up the stairs between the twin walls, his eyes catch movement. Adoc watches his watchers, a pair of musketeers leaning casually against the ramparts. As a gout of flame and smoke launch a shell out into the skeleton hordes beyond the outer wall, Adoc waves to the pair with a short motion. They might have nodded back, he wasn't sure. He'd entered the inner sanctuary, a bustling centre of activity. Some stared at his coat and armour, others didn't seem to realise him at all. He made is way over to the nearest guard, a flinty eyed barbarian and his partner on one side of the gate.

"Morning." The barbarian nodded in the same motion as sizing him up.

"Mornin'. What you looking for?" Adoc shrugs and eyes the various buildings and stone entrances carved into the mountainside.

"I have an audience with the king, know where to find him?" The guard gives and impressed nod of his head before motioning to the raised portion of the inner city, off to the right.

"Stairs towards the very rear, fanciest door there. Look for the valks." Adoc nods his thanks and wades through the crowd.

His progress is fluid, steady and unwavering. Like walking through a blizzard. Before he knows it, Adoc is standing before a pair of valkyries, their axes sitting deceptively still on the floor. They track his movements like birds of prey as they guard the door.

"I'm here for an audience with the king or a member of the council." Adoc all but demands. One raises her eyebrow and gives a half smirk.

"That might be interesting. They're almost all started this meeting not five minutes past. You have a name I can pass on?"

"Adoc." The one nods and slips inside the door like liquid metal. The other looks him up and down, equal parts looking for weaponry and outright appreciation.

"How long have you been in Drimmelheim?" The valk asks, curiosity apparently too much to bear.

"I arrived yesterday afternoon. Why?" She shrugs.

"The armour and clothes seem freshly made." Adoc cedes the point.

"Last night. I am ever in the warlocks favour." The valk looks ready to reply before the other reappears.

"The queen forwards you to the king. Should I show you to where the meeting is held?" Adoc nods and bids farewell to the other valk.

The walk is short.

"Good luck. He's more fair than you think." And with that, the valk stalks off, massive axe swaying to her stride and Adoc appreciates it for a long second before rapping on an unassuming door. It opens a second later to orange hair and green eyes.

"I'm here for the king, forwarded by the queen?" The valk opens her mouth. Then closes it and stands aside.

"Ah, Adoc. Just the barbarian I was looking for." The king's voice booms and Adoc steps through the massive doors.

"How may I be of service?" Adoc eyes the occupants. A representative from every creed so far. Wizard, archer, giant, barbarian, warlock... Adoc recognised Kail. He nodded to the man who grinned back.

"We where just discussing the patrols." Adoc suddenly feels very trapped inside.

"Your input would be invaluable." Its the wizard, his mustache is flecked grey and his coat is a dark maroon, gilded in gold. Adoc nods respectfully at the senior.

"How so?" Adoc steps forward and immediately recognises the sprawling map for what it is.

"You've been smashing skeltons for a while, wouldn't you know where to hurt them most?" The childlike voice throws Adoc completely as he sees a diminutive little tyke looking up at him with an impish raised eyebrow and a cocked hip.

She doesn't even reach his shoulder.

Adoc doesn't fail to notice the crown though.

"They don't hurt. They break." Adoc adds as he turns to the map and eyes the others. The valkyrie's cheeks turn red and she looks at the map too quickly. Adoc frowns.

"And break them we shall. However, that isn't the overall plan. So this is what we have..." and Adoc listens as the king breaks down an overall grand strategy, its intricacies and problems in equal depth, and draws his council into debate, the different temperaments and ways of life showing in strategic dogma. Adoc listens to the masters work.

-0-

"I'm sorry." Adoc pauses. The valkyrie is pensive behind him.

"I know." She catches up as the barbarian starts walking again.

"I mean, I offended you! Insulted your honour. You are surely angry?" Adoc doesn't spare her a glance.

"No." She keeps at it.

"Your men?"

"No." Adoc pushes open the door and steps into the sunlight.

"What then? How may I make it up to you?" Her voice isn't pleading, but pensive. Righting a wrong.

"Why?" She responds eagerly, explaining valkyrie honour and reputation for battle prowess.

"I'm a barbarian. We don't do honour. We fight... our honour is walking out alive." Adoc replies cryptically as they make it to the training field, rippling explosions of the cannons, salvo guns and mortars making it hard to hear.

"How may I restore your honour? I have slandered upon your impeccable record in ignorance. Let me-" A thumping boom as the mortar line on the wall above go off. "- try to redeem myself." Adoc finally turns to the valk.

"A spar." She blinks.

"Pardon?"

"Spar with me. I have gained an extra blade and need to practice with them both." She eyes the barbarian up and down. He had maybe a finger width on her in height while built like... well, a barbarian, yet they both knew in a test of strength they where perfectly equal if not maybe even in her favour. In endurance and speed, there was absolutely no contest.

She didn't for one instant believe in her assured victory.

After a wizard coming over to ward their blades and check to make sure neither held any other weapons, they where left to it. The other inhabitants of the field, some recognisable as members of Adoc's patrol, each went about their business. There was one other valkyrie on the training field, her dull grey blade and normal brown leather trappings in contrast to her gleaming gold axe and black fur overcoat slash armour.

She nodded.

The falchions sped into motion immediately. Only to be swatted aside with the flat of an axe, the valkyrie leaning so far back into the swing, she was momentarily out of blade range anyway.

A shift of a foot and a hop.

The barbarian dove and rolled away as the axe whistled past, the valk following the momentum of the blade to seemingly ignore gravity. It was art as much as a way of war.

Adoc grinned grimly and launched an attack on the backswing.

-0-

The great axe, iconic weapon of the valkyrie, is a weapon to be feared. Ancient and sharp, they cut even the toughest armour without effort pause. The wielders where to be equally feared. Despite their strength, valkyries did not heave and chop with their axe like a sword or the like. They used its legendary weight and preternatural sense of balance to simply keep it moving.

Valkyries more often followed their blade into battle than the other way round. A skilled valkyrie would seem to float, centrifugal forces letting her lean far more than seemed right only to snap in a different direction. A small hop could turn into a somersault, a step into a flanking roll. Each was followed by or part of a nigh unblockable swing of an axe. It was a deadly force against any rank infantry and even packed heavies. Giant skeletons and giants both could and would be felled by the bite of a valkyrie axe.

Against lone targets, they where unwieldy but considered overkill.

Lady Stroika, leader of the valkyrie forces that called Drimmelheim home and member of Jack's infamous council representing her kind, struggled to pin down the flighty barbarian.

It was like fighting another valkyrie. They almost looked like they where there, but weren't. They where sliding under your guard to try and remove your legs. Or rolling in the air to put the full momentum of an overhead blow straight down your spine.

Except this time they sometimes just nudged in the right way that momentum would open up a hole in your defence or just so happened to use your weapon as a launch spring. It was an admirable attempt, and after a set of twirling blows, Adoc fell into a baited opening and an axe reversed its flight and a body jumped almost horizontal to make the slash.

There was a flash of a crunch. Adoc could be heard mutterings in between wheezing breaths.

Adoc lay down on the grass, steaming in the cool air, coat and armour off to reveal scarred muscle already bruising.

"Well fought, Adoc."

"And you, councillor Stroika." The barbarian eased up and pulled out a small vial of glowing yellow from his belt. A sip and it dissappeared again.

The coat slipped on after armour was strapped carefully into position.

"That should do it. I thank you, Lady Councillor. Your time is precious and better spent than a spar with a barbarian, I am grateful." The barbarian turned to go.

"No... I... thank you. It is rare that I get to fight so. It was a rare opportunity." She smiles feintly as the axe gets clipped onto something on her black leather armour. Adoc nods over his shoulder and makes his way to the forge.

He had news to break, and people to recruit.

-0-

Adoc eyes the contraption with a skepticism written over his face.

"And it is safe?" Looxin pats tye side of the 'clapper and nods reassuringly.

"Safe as can be. We've been flying with you lot for how long now? Never had any major problems." Gregor nods.

"Thats what has me concerned. What counts as a minor problem?" Looxin shrugs.

"The tail rotor sometimes hit the ground on landing, so we had to fix that. The landing gear has been simplified... tweaks here and there." The mage looks over the handholds and small benches replacing the thunderlances and small cannon. Some had their bigger gun pointing out the viewslit removed to allow for extra weight.

"This is a bad idea." The mage still gets onto the bench, testing how well it sits. A bar for the feet and hands ensure anyone can wedge themselves against the flying contraption.

The rest of the barbarians all hoist themselves into their own seats. There are two seats per side and five machines, leaving one of the 'clappers with a full load of thunderlances and small cannonshot to fly along unhindered.

There is a clattering noise and suddenly the blades above are moving, rotating slowly and picking up speed. Adoc gives Gregor a look. The look was returned.

And then as soon as the distinct echoing thump was heard, the machine lurched slightly and the ground simply... fell away. Gregor muttered something under his breath as the barrel swiveled, bringing into sight the other machines also slowly rising with whirling rotors and their load of barbarians.

The wall passed them and they felt blood creep towards their heads as the machinery tilted forwards and lost altitude and converted it to speed. The ground whipped past, a mass of skeletons and buzzing quarrels. None even came close to hitting as they zoomed past with small banking weaves.

Adoc was grim faced as they made it into the mountains away from the battle. The flying machines slowly but smoothly slotted into a staggered line as they flew through the valleys. Gregor was still muttering next to him.

"Don't like flying?" Adoc was amused.

"I don't mind flying. Its the falling that gets me." Adoc chuckled over the thrum of machinery.

"And the time you jumped that cliff?" The wizard shakes his head.

"That was soft and fluffy at the bottom. And that golem was rather convincing." Adoc nods as the machine banks slowly around a familiar spur and starts to flare back, slowing down drastically.

"Get ready to jump!" Adoc leans out of the seat, hanging on by a single handhold and the bar at the bottom. Gregor squawks an unmanly 'eep' at Adoc.

The reassuring boomings of the thunderlances split the air followed by the chatter of repeater- boomsticks. They taste the smoke as their machine drops them directly into the path. Gregor throws himself off with abandon, hitting snow and a skeleton's face in one frantic leap. Adoc also gains an instant kill, a single falchion snapping out and slipping past a recuperating skeleton's guard to part its head from its spine. They slash and punch their way to the inside edge of the path.

"Get your asses here now!" Adoc bellows at the barbarians that get too caught up in decimating the bewildered skeletons as the last 'clapper rears back and slides away, calm as you please.

They scramble back and Adoc takes a handful of seconds to insure that all present remember what the past few days of training had been.

Then he turns and dissappears up the side of the path without even a crunch of snow. Gregor takes up the rear and at the last second, launches two firebolts that throw their closest pursuers into the air. Then he dissappears.

The skeletons struggle up the snowy slop before the tracks run colder than the ice they where imprinted on and the path snows in entirely.

Guards eye the slope and the retreating flying machines with equal apprehension before righting their shields and forming up.

-0-

It felt good. The ice. The wind. The slopes and rocks all added to a sense of ghost familiarity. Adoc knew this valley in particular. They had used it twice before near the beginning. The snow was biting as usual, but the coats where amazing and his boots kept just that much more heat inside.

Adoc grinned as the veterans attempted to imbue a semblance of competence into the new bloods.

It was going to be a beautiful little slaughter. Even Gregor could feel it.

-0-

"You fought against the barbarian on the training grounds." Stroika looks up from the small tactical map to her friend, Baleike. She nods slowly, not entirely sure what to expect.

"You like him." Stroika blinks before sighing.

"You could at least phrase it as a question." The woman grins, twirling her hair between hee fingers.

"What made you like him? His scars?" Stroika raises an eyebrow.

"Okay, not that." There's a long pause.

"Maybe it the voice." Baleike finally supplies. Stroika shakes her head. He had a nice voice yes, but it wasn't the main reason she-

"Oh! Oh you naughty girl!" Her friend all but shouts and judging by the delighted look on her face, she had pegged the reason.

"No..."

"Oh sweet fates!"

"Dont..."

"Stroika..."

"I swear..."

"Never pegged you for one who likes getting domin-" An axe was swung and a seething shriek was heard.

* * *

A story taking place in the world I've put together for my much, much longer story. Sort of revolves around the beginning of the sky marines, a group of shock troop barbarians specialising in swift attacks and airborne warfare using the upcoming unit in Clash Royale, the Flying Machines. It was purely just a matter of adapting it to fit with the new troop leaks. If something doesn't make sense or add up, PM me or drop a review if you don't have an account. Heck, review anyway.

Glossary:

Drimmelheim - Near mythical fort set deep into the Drimnin mountains. Very far north and almost always snowing. Home of the biggest and one of the few remaining clans of valkyries left.

Unnamed - In my ongoing story, barbarians, archers or any kind of troop has to go through a certain amount of time on the field after being cooked before they get a name. Named units are pretty badass in general.

Warlocks - My take on builders/villagers. They the folk who designed and man the cannons, mortars and X-bows ect. They are men of logical minds and have a going rivalry with the wizards.

Salvo Guns - Nine barrels split into three sides of a triangle with three guns on a side. Rotates the entire setup to fire the top three amd then reloads as it cycles. My own invention made a while ago.

Thunderlances - Air Defense fireworks merely filled with explosives instead of pretty lights.

Repeater-boomstick - Think musketeer, but stack the gun two high, stick it onto a flying machine and give it a magazine. Like a maxim-gun just more awesome.

Ever hopeful,

E.W.


End file.
